The current slowly turned it, but weeds and reeds had snagged it in place. At first Frank paid it no mind. River trash washed down from bigger towns upstream all the time, and he was already getting ready to head home to another long, empty day.
He turned away from the water, thinking of the same stale routine waiting for him back at the house.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bundle jerk ever so slightly against the current. It was such a small movement, but wrong enough to stop him cold.
He took a few quick steps back to the bank and stared through the gray mist. The bundle moved again, weakly but on purpose, and in that instant Frank understood: there was something alive inside.
His heart, which hadn’t had much reason to race lately, kicked hard in his chest. Without wasting another second, he pulled off his rubber boots and tossed them into the grass.
He shrugged out of his jacket and stepped into the river. The water was brutally cold, and the stones underfoot bit into his bare feet while the shock of it seized his legs.
Still, he pushed through the reeds toward the trapped bundle. When he reached it, he grabbed hold with both numb hands and hauled it with all he had back up onto the bank.
It was heavier than he expected, tangled in scraps of old fishing net slick with river slime. Frank pulled out his pocketknife and started cutting through the nylon strands wrapped tight around the mess.
